


blowin' up a storm

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: Ted and Rebecca go to the Eleventh Annual Benefit for Underprivileged Children.
Relationships: Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton
Comments: 28
Kudos: 61





	blowin' up a storm

**Author's Note:**

> me, after watching ted lasso one time:

The Eleventh Annual Benefit for Underprivileged Children has been hanging over Rebecca’s head like a gloomy cloud, worse than last year, because there’s no way to top last year. Not now they’ve been relegated, not now that the furor about Lasso has died down.

Keeley suggests a WAG angle for the auction. “Get some of those limpies out there something to cheer for, too,” she says, leaning against Rebecca’s desk. “‘Course you and I will fetch the lion’s share.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I might bid on you too, come to think of it.” 

“Oh, I won’t be standing on that stage except to announce whatever musical hoodlum Ted finds this year,” Rebecca says. There’s an article about Rupert’s new babies - twins, if you can believe it, one for each of hip, and she pinches her fingers, zooms in to see, with pleasure, that he looks tired.

“Come on,” Keeley pouts, drumming her fingers against the wood. “You’ll look all glam, dolled up like Catherine Deneuve but not as old. Probably.” She looks at Rebecca, drops a wink. “Definitely.” Rebecca can’t stop the matching smirk that’s pulling at her lips.

And that’s how she ends up on the auction list, with diamonds in her ears and emeralds at her neck and a dress that Ted deems “prettier than a blue-nosed mule,” which doesn’t mean much, but she can tell that he’s impressed with how she looks, a little more “aw, shucks” and a little less looking her in the eye.

“You’ll have Elaine Kenner barking for it,” she says, because it’s polite to repay compliments, and he doesn’t look half bad in his black suit and his white bowtie. Rebecca wonders if Keeley had anything to do with dressing him. Something about still going after that bloody Tom Ford contract.

“Well now, I don’t know about that. Feels kinda like being at the Witchita County Fair. But I think I’m better looking than Mrs. O’Malley’s prize hog, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Without having seen that prize hog, I’m afraid I can’t comment,” she says lightly, but slides her hand through Ted’s arm. He made it clear that she’s his plus-one, because he didn’t want to get seated next to Cheryl Barnaby (“Not to put too fine a point on it, but if she’s next to me for a whole dinner, I will feel very uncomfy in ways I’m not sure I can describe”), and she’s relieved she doesn’t have to dredge up some banker in trousers that don’t break properly.

Ted isn’t a bad dining companion, all things considered. He makes sure she gets the basket of warm bread followed closely by the butter dish, and whenever her wine glass is dangerously close to empty, he signals a member of the waitstaff to fill it right back up. He does tell her a story about his college fraternity that mentions more large ungulates than she’s entirely comfortable with, but it’s a small price to pay for not wanting to gouge her eyes out with the dessert spoon.

It’s also a mercy that Rupert has decided not to grace them with his presence. “Too busy with those little drooling babies of his,” she says, like it didn’t hurt that he implied he never wanted to be a parent if she was the mother. 

“Let’s just hope they get their mom’s genes, and I don’t just mean her Levi’s,” Ted says, tapping his glass to hers, taking a sip of his beer that leaves a little bit of foam on his mustache. 

“You’ve got - just - it’s some,” she gestures at his face, and he stares at her blankly, and she huffs, leans in and wipes her thumb across his top lip. “Beer foam.” Her hand goes to her lap, fidgets with her napkin. Ted clears his throat, and they’re both saved when Keeley appears on stage to announce the start of the auction, says they’ve got a real live auctioneer to run things, and Rebecca doesn’t remember approving that in the budget, but it’s better than her on stage trying to drive up bids.

She’s grateful that Keeley goes first, but it doesn’t stop the feeling that she’s mutton dressed as lamb, going after the younger woman. Keeley doesn’t get much in the way of bids, but that’s down to Roy glaring at everyone else. Her blush says that she doesn’t mind, and then she half-snogs Roy’s face right off, so at least he’s found the lid for his curmudgeonly pot.

When Rebecca steps into the lights, it’s like she forgets every thought she’s ever had, and it’s all she can do to smile, grateful that she told Ted to bid whatever it costs to save her from the old man who’s been popping his dentures in and out all evening. “Is this your way of telling me I’m getting a raise?” he asked, eyebrows high, “or are we just betting with the horse’s own money?”

The auctioneer does a fair job of selling her, she remembers to make a claw on her hip, one leg forward, but that’s about all she can manage. Ted’s a slow start, putting the barbecue sauce Beard brought on his chicken and Rebecca almost feels forgotten. Keeley even bids before Ted does, to stomps and whistles. “Easy, boys,” she says, arm slithered around Roy’s neck, and he has the barest smile on his face.

Quentin Barnes starts the bidding, his gummy smile making her dinner start to roil, and she just wants to throw her shoe at Ted, or to have Keeley win the whole thing, just to end this charade.

Finally Ted raises his hand, bashful and smiling, and then it’s off to the races with a little back and forth between Barnes and Ted. “Looks like the manager is having trouble making time with the boss during the work day,” the auctioneer says, ending the bidding at what Rebecca feels is a respectable number, for all that it’s coming out of her own account.

Ted stands as she arrives back at their table, a surprising gentlemanly gesture, but she should stop being surprised by him. “You looked mighty fine up there, if I do say so.”

“I’d be highly offended if you didn’t,” she parries, smiles, sips her wine. Glass full once more, and she didn’t even see it happen while she was up on stage.

-

People gone, waitstaff clearing up the tables, Rebecca grabs a bottle of champagne from behind the bar, slides a tenner across the surface with a wink. Ted’s lurking outside the door, waiting for her but trying not to look like it. “Where’s Beard?” she asks, once more sliding her free hand through his arm as they stroll down the street.

“Well he won the bid for Isaac’s girlfriend, promised to teach her how to play chess, and I think Isaac decided he’d take a lesson too, so they’ll be tied up for the next ten to fifteen hours, at my best guess.” His elbow jostles her slightly, almost feels like a squeeze against her hand, but she can’t be sure.

They end up in the middle of the pitch, just the moon offering what light their phones can’t. He offers to open the bottle, pausing mid-question as she handily pops the cork all on her own. “I do admire a woman who can fix the fizz without a fuss.”

“Mmm,” is all she says, drinking straight from the bottle, handing it to Ted who looks at it like it might explode. “Doesn't the fact that I took the first sip lead you to believe it’s not poison?” she asks, and Ted smiles, drinks, leaning back on one hand.

“Bubbles aren’t so bad when it’s champagne,” he says, taking another sip. She digs her toes in the grass, shoes off when they stepped onto the field, heels threatening to sink with every step.

“Nothing is quite so bad when there’s champagne,” she answers, shoulder bumping against Ted’s. There’s an easiness between them that she never feels like she’s earned, something she puts down to him, because he’s kinder than she’ll ever be.

It’s that thought that turns her head, that makes her lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips. His mustache feels funny against her lip, but she doesn’t think she hates it. His hand on her arm stops her, and she pulls away, an apology already forming on her tongue.

“No, no, no, none of that now,” he says, fingers on her wrist, gentle and light. “I just don’t want you blaming this on the bubbly tomorrow, because then I’d have to call it quits on champagne and I just can’t stand the thought of that.” He chucks her chin and smiles, stands up and holds out his hand to help her to her feet.

“Gotta get on home and make biscuits. This boss of mine is a real taskmaster, schedules time with me every morning, you know,” he says. “I say ‘Ma’am, my day is fuller than an apple orchard in August’ but she won’t hear it, and so it’s my ass, plopping in her chair, bright and early every day.” He clasps her hand between both of his, then slides into his car.

“And remember,” he calls from his window, “you bought a date with yourself so make sure you get home safe and sound. Call me if you get fresh with you!” He waves, and she can only stand and watch him drive away, laughter hanging in her throat.

-

Her office window is open because she’s found she actually likes hearing what goes on down on the pitch during training. The rhythmic kicking and the sound of balls scraping against the grass, the cheering when a good play happens. She understands a little of why Rupert loves it so much. Football’s lodged itself behind her heart, AFC Richmond’s got a hold on her aorta.

“You know, Yogi Berra once said to give it all in the first half and if isn’t enough, then give what you have left in the second. I don’t know much about math and I don’t like to bring it on the field-”

“Pitch.”

“Thanks, Nate. I don’t like math on the pitch, but I’d say give it all for the whole of the game and know that you’ve done everything you can.” She wonders if Ted swallowed Roget’s when he was a child, all the sayings that he can spout at a moment’s notice. “Just like my gramma’s neighbor’s cousin used to say, what’re you going to do when the crick runs dry?”

“What does that even mean, Ted?” she calls out before she can stop herself, head half out the window. Nate’s whistle blows and everyone stops, looks at her, and if she could just crawl back into her office and lock herself away, she would. 

“That’s the beauty of good old fashioned sayings,” he calls back, not a care in the world, like he wouldn’t make her dream of feeling badly for halting their practice in the middle of things. “You find whatever meaning you like, and hold it in your heart.” He tips his visor to her and turns back to his men, the soothing sounds of football training once more filling the air. 

She sinks back on her couch, smile still on her face. She feels almost...goofy. Like Ted’s goofiness has rubbed off on her, like Americanness is contagious and she’s caught some benign strain. Her daily box of biscuits sits on her desk, unopened from when Ted dropped it off with a question about what her Spice Girl alter ego would be (“Scary Spice is already taken,” he said, “so keep that in mind.”) but she didn’t even get to answer, her phone ringing and interrupting them. 

Champagne Spice is what she’d say if she was feeling brave, to see what he’d do. There’s a tiny red heart drawn on a biscuit, somehow saccharine and also endearing, and she doesn’t love it but she doesn’t hate it, and she wonders if he makes his own icing too, or if he’s just bought a cheap tube from Tesco. When she swipes her finger through it, it tastes homemade.

He brings dinner for them later, Chinese takeaway in white boxes. He hands her chopsticks and he takes the plastic fork for himself. She’s just grateful he didn’t get her noodles, no way to eat that gracefully. He’s got a glass of tap water, she’s got a cup of tepid tea. She doesn’t even worry about him dripping on the couch. 

“This is better than what we had back in Kansas, I will say that,” he says.

“The company or the food?” she asks, archly.

“Well I was talking about the food, but if I’m honest, I’ll say the company is much improved as well. No Rebecca Weltons to be found in Wichita. Well, except the cashier at the Dillons but you’re a heck of a lot more beautiful. Don’t tell her I said that, though. Don’t wanna lose the five cents off she gives me on lettuce.” 

“We wouldn’t want you to lose that, no,” she says, words coming out softer than she means them to.

It feels like there’s a shift, like something’s different, like if they were in a restaurant, the lighting would’ve dimmed and the music would’ve swelled and she just hopes she’s not alone on this island of a feeling. “Is this a date, Coach Lasso?” she asks, leaning towards him. 

He smiles his bashful little smile and meets her gaze. “Could be. You know, it very well could be.” He leans in too and it’s nice when he kisses her, the mustache still new, but still not hated. Her hand rests on his chest, the buttons of his shirt cold against her fingers.

-

She knows that they found his flat for him, that it’s provided by the club, but she’s never seen it, just had Higgins pick it out and assumed it would be fine for a coach she was trying to get rid of. But the first time she sets foot inside, she thinks he’s made it into a nice little home, light coming in the windows and photos of his son on the shelves. There’s a red lego bus being used as a bookend.

Undeniably, she’s here for sex, there’s no illusions about that between them. She got waxed and has on nice knickers. Ted probably did some preparation of some sort, maybe washed his sheets. But it also feels like coming round to see a friend, like she’d be happy if they just watched a movie. She hasn’t watched telly with anyone in so long.

Ted kisses her and it’s clear they won’t be flicking through the channels tonight. His bedroom is clean until her dress gets tossed on the floor, her shoes lost somewhere in the living room. The buttons on his shirt are immaterial as she works it off his shoulders. He’s warm and friendly and he’s different than Rupert, and she doesn’t want to think of her ex-husband for a second of this.

His mustache against her thighs makes her understand why anyone would grow one of the things in the first place, and his hand against her hip makes her feel safe and secure. She’s sweating when she comes, face buried into a pillow, swallowing her moan, and Ted looks proud of himself as he wipes at his face. She pulls him in for a kiss, can’t quite believe she’s in his bed, doesn’t mind it too much either. Can’t think of anywhere else she’d like to be at this moment.

She gets up in the middle of the night for water, rifles through the cabinets to find his glassware, sees he’s got a tin of her favorite tea stocked away. On her way back to him, water in hand, she swipes her finger in the open jar of peanut butter on his counter. It tastes like him.


End file.
